Premonitions
by resauthor
Summary: During an investigation into the death of a wealthy business executive, Chris and Rita discover that the man's death was predicted five years earlier by a local psychic. The murder investigation brings Chris into contact with an old college friend. Mild sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: A fair amount of romance, a few adult situations, and mild sexual content. Crimes were never my specialty - which is my way of saying any leaps of logic or confusing plot points are unintentional.

**Premonitions**

**Chapter 1**

**by: resauthor**

**Alone in his office**, Henry Winterbourne tried to concentrate on the dismal quarterly financial reports in front of him, but the overwhelming silence of the building unnerved him. He pushed the papers aside. It was just past ten o'clock and the only other personnel remaining on the property at this late hour were the two security guards stationed behind the front desk downstairs.

The sixty-year-old company co-founder of GWH Communications hadn't slept well for weeks, not since the death threats had begun arriving regularly. He had considered contacting the police, but gave up on the notion almost immediately. Certain events in a man's life were predetermined by the mistakes of his past. There had been warnings, of course, but he had chosen to ignore them. Now, it was time to pay the piper. And although Henry had thought himself prepared, faced with his own mortality, he was filled with regrets. His ex-wife, the high school sweetheart he had sworn to love a lifetime, had been remarried for decades to a man who adored her and doted on Henry's children and grandchildren in a way Henry had never made time for. They probably wouldn't even miss him, and it was all his own fault. Ambition and greed had been his closest companions for far too long. If only...

He flinched, but remained seated at the head of the conference table as the door to the outer office was forced open. There was a minute or two when he could have tried to run for it. After all, he still worked out in his private gym at least three times a week and could jog further than many of the younger men in his employ, but it wouldn't have mattered. Five years of waiting had slowly eaten away at his sanity. They would continue to hunt him down, no matter how long it took. It had to stop tonight. It was time.

The double doors to the conference room burst apart. Henry Winterbourne was, by his own admission, a man whose soul was as dark and empty as his life. During his final moments on earth he made no excuses and begged for no mercy.

* * *

**"Excuse me." **

Jim Carson looked up from his keyboard and found himself face to face with perfection. He had never seen blue eyes so deep and rich in color. Long dark lashes fluttered half way down drawing his attention to finely sculpted cheekbones and porcelain white skin. The report he had been attempting to type no longer seemed important despite the fact that it was already an hour overdue. Tuesday was his day to fill in at the front desk during the lunch hour, and Jim took the responsibility very seriously. He cleared his throat and pulled himself together quickly. "Can I help you?"

The statuesque blonde was dressed in a figure defining, finely tailored, white linen suit; her neck and wrist adorned with a matching set of triple-stranded pearls. Leaning closer to the young officer, her expensive perfume wafted gently across the short distance between them. When she finally spoke, it was in a clear, even tone, "I'm here to see Chris Lorenzo."

He should have known. Chris' reputation went up a few more notches in the rookie's estimation. "Sergeant Lorenzo from homicide?"

"Yes." She responded with a confidence born of old money, social position and natural beauty. "Is he in today?" Tipping her head was a calculated move that swung a pale curtain of hair forward.

Jim swallowed hard. "Let me call upstairs and check for you." He picked up the telephone receiver and spoke into it softly.

The woman glanced around the stylish lobby as she waited. The expression on her face never changed, but her quick dismissal of the neon lighting and unusual color scheme suggested disapproval. She turned back to Jim.

"Sergeant Lorenzo and his partner are out in the field right now," he advised her regretfully. "Would you like to leave him a message?"

A small frown was allowed to mar the perfect forehead, but only for a second or two. "Please let him know that Grace Walters stopped by to see him."

Grace, Jim sighed to himself. It was a fitting name for such a heavenly creature. "No problem, Ms. Walters. I'll personally make sure that he receives your message."

Grace glanced at the young man's name tag. Her eyes trailed slowly up to his reddening cheeks, and she allowed the corners of her mouth to turn up slightly into what most people would assume was a smile. "Thank you, Officer Carson. I'll drop by again later this afternoon."

With a small nod, she turned to leave. Her long-legged, elegant stride drew more than a few stares, as did the short white linen skirt that hypnotically hugged her thighs as she walked.

Jim exhaled slowly when the door finally closed behind Grace Walters. What a woman! With a reluctant sigh he forced his attention back onto his report.

* * *

**"I'm going with you,"** Chris Lorenzo informed his partner as he held open the door to the homicide division, letting her enter before him. They crossed to the far side of the room and sat down at their desks which faced each other.

Sergeant Rita Lance rolled her eyes as they settled in to finish up the preliminary report on their current case, the Henry Winterbourne murder. The discussion with her partner, best friend and fiancé was far from over. "You have a couple hours of work left here tonight. It would be a waste of time for you to accompany me." Her raised eyebrows and intent expression dared him to disagree.

"But..."

"No buts..."

"I thought you'd enjoy my company," Chris tried a different approach, looking up from the form he was filling out.

"And I thought you wanted to go to Sanibel this weekend."

"I do."

Rita sighed in frustration. "You know as well as I do, we aren't going to make it there unless we finish up here early Friday. If I take care of the Sutherland interview tonight while you're working on the report, we just might be able to avoid working the weekend."

Sergeant Chris Lorenzo tossed his pencil onto the desk and settled back in his chair, clasping his hands in his lap. "I've heard some strange stories about that woman. I don't like you going back over there alone."

"Victoria Sutherland is a sixty-five-year-old widow, Chris. All I need to do is clarify a few remarks from our first interview with her. I think I can handle asking a few questions."

Her fiancé straightened his chair and leaned forward across his desk. "Her house gave me the creeps the last time we were there."

"The creeps? Now there's a technical term you don't hear very often."

"Sergeant Lorenzo?"

Chris turned toward the interruption. Jim Carson was walking in through the swinging double doors.

"I have a message for you, Sergeant."

"What's up, Carson?" He accepted the slip of paper from the rookie. Reading the name written on it, his face lit up with surprise. "Did she say what time she'd be back?"

"No, Sergeant. She didn't." Jim stood there thinking back on the gorgeous blonde, not knowing that his every thought was clearly visible on his face. "I've been watching for her all afternoon."

Rita grinned but hid her smile behind her hand. She didn't want to embarrass the young officer.

"Just send her up when she gets here, Carson." Chris waited impatiently for a response, "Jim?" he snapped, "You can go back downstairs now."

The authority in the detective's voice came through loud and clear. Jim Carson excused himself quickly. "Sorry, Sir."

"What's going on?" Rita asked curiously.

Chris was still holding the message slip, staring at the words with an affectionate smile. "An old friend from college stopped by the precinct to talk to me. We lost touch after graduation. I wonder what she wants?"

Rita was wondering the same thing. Squelching the immediate desire to ask for details, she also couldn't help but wonder exactly what type of 'friend' this woman had been. "I'm sure you'll get a chance to find out."

He continued to sit quietly with the slip of paper in his hand, lost in his thoughts, so she turned back to her work. If Chris wanted to tell her more about the situation, he most certainly would. After another five minutes of total silence, she accepted the fact that her concentration was ruined.

"Well?"

Chris looked up in surprise. "Well...what?"

"What is her name?"

"Oh...sorry. Grace. Grace Walters."

"The name, Walters, sounds familiar."

"It should. Old Palm Beach money. Very old. Their history here in Florida goes back over a hundred and fifty years, if I remember correctly."

"So, explain to me how the wealthy Miss Grace ended up at the same college as a regular guy like Christopher Lorenzo?"

He raised an eyebrow and regarded her curiously. "Grace was going through what she called her 'rebellious stage' when I met her. She had split from her family and was living off of a trust fund from her maternal grandmother. We had several classes together."

Something about his tone unsettled Rita, but she refused to chalk it up to jealousy on her part. That would be ridiculous. They had both traveled down long separate paths to get where they were today, and they had both had special people in their lives before they found each other. So why did the wistful look on his face make her uneasy? She made an effort to pay more attention to his words.

"Grace was always a little shy around people. She used to complain about being too tall and too skinny. She said it scared all the good men away."

Rita couldn't resist asking, "Did you two date?"

"Not exactly." Chris grinned at the memories.

"What does that mean?"

"We hung out together. You know...studied, helped each other through tough courses, loitered till all hours in off-campus bars." As if just realizing that he had been staring off into space, Chris dropped his glance back down to his partner. "They were good years," he admitted. He suddenly smiled again and asked, "You don't mind my visiting with her again, do you?"

Rita rushed to return the smile and reassure him, "Who me? Of course not. It's not often that I get to meet one of your college friends. I was just curious."

"Chris?"

Both detectives turned towards the voice simultaneously. One of them stood up and walked over to greet the tall, leggy blonde. The other one sat back and observed.

"Grace? Is that you?" Chris held out his arms. "My God, woman! You're all grown up!"

Rita crossed her legs, leaned back in her chair and folded her hands casually in her lap as the stranger proceeded to wrap two impossibly long white arms around the neck of Sergeant Chris Lorenzo. If Grace Walters had indeed suffered from body image issues during her college years, the Nordic beauty appeared over them now, and Chris didn't seem to mind the attention. He was hugging her back enthusiastically; his hands firmly around the woman's waist.

Rita made a point of plastering a friendly smile on her face when Grace glanced her way.

Chris was unaware of the calculating way in which his old friend was checking out his partner. As soon as he pulled back to take another look at her, her attention was once again back on him.

"You actually did it, Music Man," Grace said, touching his chin lightly with a well-manicured finger, "you went into police work."

Rita thought the grin on Chris' face looked pretty ridiculous, but she remained silent and waited for the little reunion to play itself out.

"Come on, Gracie," he stammered, "you know that's what I had my heart set on." He turned helplessly to Rita, but she just raised her eyebrows.

Unspoken questions hung in the air.

Grace watched the interplay and spoke up, directing her comments to the woman she had not yet been introduced to. "The rest of our group tried to convince Music Man that his 'talents' were wasted in criminology."

"Grace," Chris broke in, "this is my..."

"Partner!" Rita filled in the blank, purposely leaving out their personal relationship. She stood up and held out her hand. "Sergeant Rita Lance,_ Music Man's_ partner." Oh, why hadn't she worn one of her good suits today? Shaking hands with the perfect looking blonde who towered at least six inches over her, Rita mentally cursed her dark blue slacks and simple blouse. It was all that extra time playing in the shower with Chris every morning. It was cutting into her prep time.

Grace responded politely but with little of the warmth she had shown Chris. Years of experience forming first impressions had Rita wondering if Grace was the type woman who saved all her emotion and affection for men, never bothering to form bonds of any kind with her own sex. It was a breed that Rita had little use or liking for. Unfortunately, as was often the case with the men these women came in contact with, Chris seemed oblivious to the undercurrents.

For Chris' sake, she was determined to be friendly to the woman, no matter how pointless the endeavor. She sat casually on the edge of her desk and tried for polite conversation, "I don't remember my partner ever mentioning another field of interest, Grace. What exactly was Christopher into back then?"

Chris had shoved his hands into his pockets, but that didn't stop Grace from slipping her arm through his possessively. "I'm surprised he never mentioned it. But then again, maybe you only see the professional side of Chris."

Rita bit her lower lip in an attempt to keep quiet. What she perceived as Grace's condescending tone and snobbish attitude, although admittedly doled out with a very light touch, might possibly be all in her imagination. Not wanting to upset Chris, she decided against setting the woman straight.

Chris opened his mouth to say something, but Grace placed a scolding finger to his lips and continued explaining the past to Rita, "Chris played the saxophone in a small jazz band during his junior and senior years. He was considered very talented. I know for a fact that he had a couple offers to tour locally, but he refused to go." Appreciative blue eyes had been trained on her fellow alumni, but Grace turned to Rita now. "A face like this is wasted in a stuffy old police station. Don't you agree?"

Dancing green eyes watched him squirm, assuring Chris he was going to hear about this later. Thankfully, he followed her lead and didn't explain to Grace their more personal connection.

He jumped in to hurry things along, "The offers weren't all that promising, Grace. Besides, I already knew what I wanted to do, and I've never regretted my choice." The last sentence was said with his eyes resting on his partner.

Captain Lipschitz stuck his head out of his office at that moment, "Rita...Can you come in here for a minute?"

"Sure, Cap." Before she headed into her boss' office, Rita nodded at the other woman and excused herself. "It was nice meeting you, Grace."

"You, too, Sergeant Lance," Grace responded coolly. "I hope you can spare your partner for a few minutes longer."

Rita met Chris' eye and nodded again before turning to walk away.

* * *

Before she was even settled into the chair in front of his desk, Harry silently pointed his pen towards Chris and waited for Rita to explain.

"An old college friend of Chris'," she supplied the information with a dry, emotionless voice.

Harry lifted an eyebrow at her tone, "Nobody in my college looked like that."

"Mine neither."

"Seems a little high end, if you know what I mean."

"I agree."

He was getting impatient with the cryptic conversation. "So, what's the story?"

"You'll have to ask Chris."

Harry swung his finger in a back and forth motion, "Is everything okay between you two?" He watched the woman across from him closely, looking for any signs of distress.

Rita sighed in annoyance. "Aren't you the one who cautioned us to keep our personal relationship out of the precinct?" She paused to look down at her hands and fingered the emerald engagement ring. When she looked back up at the Captain, she smiled a hesitant apology and explained, "I'm not sure who Grace Walters is or exactly what she was to Chris back then, but I'm sure he'll explain, Cap. Don't worry about it. I'm not going to."

After another quiet pause, Harry diplomatically changed the subject.

"Any new leads in the Winterbourne case?"

"Nothing yet," she admitted. "We're still working on background."

"What time are you going over to the Sutherland house?"

Rita checked her watch. "I told Mrs. Sutherland that I would be there by six o'clock, so that gives me an hour."

The Captain gave her a pointed look over the top of his glasses, "I assume Chris is going with you."

"Not you, too..." Rita complained with an exasperated shake of her head. "What is it about that woman that has you and Chris so spooked? Or is it my inability to ask a few simple questions that has you worried?"

Harry met her direct gaze with a stern look of his own. "You know better than to ask a question like that, Lance. I have complete faith in your abilities, but it's my job to look out for my detectives and make sure they are prepared when walking into dangerous or unstable situations."

"Are you sure we're talking about the same Mrs. Sutherland? Victoria Sutherland?"

"Yes...Victoria Sutherland. There is something strange about that woman. Why isn't your partner going with you?" He looked out into the department again and frowned. Chris' visitor was still holding onto his arm and smiling at him.

"Chris is going to stay here and finish up the prelim. We're trying to clear our schedules so we can get away this weekend."

Harry tore his eyes away from Chris and gave Rita his full attention again. "You two have plans?"

Rita watched her boss curiously, "Yes. We're going to Sanibel for two days. At least I hope we are."

Brightening up immediately, Harry assured her, "Don't worry about a thing. I'm sure you two can manage to be out of here early on Friday."

"That's my goal, Cap." She wasn't exactly sure why the Captain was so interested in their plans, but if he was willing to help them get away early on Friday, she was grateful.

"Go on..." Officially ending their meeting, Harry waved her out of the room. "Get going...just watch yourself at the Sutherland house."

Rita stood up and turned to leave.

"Rita?"

One hand on the doorknob, she turned back, "Yes, Captain?"

"Tell Chris to come in here when he's done reminiscing."

"Sure, Cap.

* * *

Rita reached her desk just as Chris was walking Grace to the department doors. She kept her eyes on her work as they hugged briefly, assuming that Grace would glance her direction. As soon as Chris returned to his desk, she delivered the Captain's summons.

Chris sensed her mood had changed and glanced in the direction of the private office, assuming their boss had said something to upset her. "Are you okay?"

Rita shrugged her shoulders in response. "Sure."

Torn between staying put and finding out if something was bothering his partner or dropping everything to find out what his boss wanted, Chris stood frozen in place for a few seconds. Harry's bellow finally forced him to move.

"Lorenzo!"

"I'll be right back, Sam." He reluctantly headed for the Captain's office.

"Okay, _Music Man_."

Her quiet words stopped him short, and he turned back to stare at his partner, "I hate that nickname. I don't suppose I can convince you to pretend you never heard it?"

"Only if you explain how you earned it."

"It's like Grace said, I used to play the saxophone in a band."

"Oh, I think there's definitely more to that little story."

Chris kept up a diplomatic silence.

"Lorenzo!"

"I'll be right in, Captain!" Stepping closer to Rita's desk, he leaned down so his words couldn't be heard by their fellow officers. His look was one of embarrassment as he whispered, "It started off as a joke... okay, it had something to do with scoring."

Shaking her head, Rita tried to keep a straight face but ended up smiling at his discomfort. "I figured as much."

"You did?"

"Am I interrupting a life and death situation over here, Lorenzo?" Hands on his hips as he stood behind Chris, Harry seemed to enjoy a moment of satisfaction when both detectives glanced up guiltily. "Because I could swear, I requested your presence in my office TEN MINUTES AGO!

"I'm right behind ya, Cap." Chris followed the Captain, throwing Rita an exaggerated look of fright right before he disappeared into the private office.

The phone on Chris' desk rang. Punching in the proper numbers, Rita answered his extension from her desk.

"Homicide. Sergeant Lance..."

"I'm sorry, Sergeant Lance. This is Grace Walters. I was trying to reach Chris."

Rita rolled her eyes heavenward at the sound of the honey coated, cultured voice. The woman hadn't been gone a full ten minutes yet. From the amount of background noise Rita guessed that she was calling from her car. "I'm sorry, Ms. Walters, he's in a meeting with the Captain right now. Can I give him a message?"

"I really do need to speak to him directly."

"I'm afraid I can't disturb him." Rita could just picture the annoyed pout.

"Just tell him that I've contacted my father, and he has agreed to talk to Chris at eleven tomorrow morning."

"Your father?"

"Be sure and give Chris the message." The mobile phone line crackled and hissed making it difficult to speak or hear clearly.

"I'll tell him."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

The call terminated, and Rita placed the receiver down gently.

"Lance! Get in here!"

'Her master's voice,' she thought dryly. What did the captain want now?

* * *

**Rita turned up the air conditioning** in her car all the way to its highest setting. It was seven o'clock at night and the sun had not yet set, but the early July weather remained humid and sweltering. Her shirt was uncomfortably stuck to her skin in several places, her hair resembled a damp mop, and all she could think about was a tall glass of iced tea and a long refreshing shower. Hopefully with a little company.

Forced to drive around the block where Chris' apartment was located because her usual parking spot had a late model, silver Mercedes convertible parked in it, she was lucky to find some curb space on the next street over. She walked through the 100-degree air quickly on her way to the red brick apartment house, glancing appreciatively at the expensive leather and wood interior of the Mercedes as she passed. The brave owner had left the top down on the immaculate vehicle.

Key ring still in hand, she unlocked the door to the apartment and stopped short as she stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. From her perch on a bar stool, without a hair out of place, Grace's legs looked even longer than Rita remembered. It made the tired detective even more aware of her own disheveled appearance.

"Sam," Chris greeted her with his usual warm smile, "I was starting to get worried about you." He handed her the glass of iced tea he had just poured out. "Look who stopped by."

Grace glanced back and forth between the partners with a surprised look on her face, "Do you two always have dinner together? Is that normal for partners?"

Rita couldn't think of a single good reason why she should explain anything to the annoying woman even if she used to be a close friend of Chris', so she dodged the question with a vague answer, "Our jobs require quite a bit of overtime."

Grace turned back to Chris, who was working on dinner as they talked, "Am I interrupting something?"

Chris glanced at Rita before answering, but she continued to avoid his eyes. He was stuck taking the polite route. "No," he assured Grace, "You're welcome to stay. Dinner isn't fancy but we'd love the company."

Rita headed for the stairs, aware of Grace watching her every move. "I'm going to freshen up," she explained, holding on to her drink as she made her way up to Chris' room. Once there, she stood in the doorway of the bathroom and leaned back against the frame, closing her eyes. She hated these unwanted feelings of jealousy and dislike. Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax as the central air chilled the room to a comfortable temperature. Several minutes later, familiar hands closed over either side of her rib cage and a scratchy chin nuzzled the side of her face.

"You okay, Sam?" Chris placed small kisses all along the side of her jaw. He backed away when she opened her eyes, but he didn't remove his hands. If anything, he held her tighter as his eyes searched her face with concern. "You look exhausted."

_Especially compared to that blonde downstairs_, she couldn't help thinking.

Chris took the glass of iced tea from her and placed it on the bathroom counter. "Rita?"

"I'm fine, Chris. The heat just got to me." She offered a tired smile. "Is your company still here?"

"Yes. I'm not sure why she dropped by yet. She was parked outside when I drove up."

"Silver, convertible Mercedes?" Rita asked needlessly.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Just a guess."

Chris fingered a stray lock of hair that hand fallen against her face. He slowly wound it tighter around his index finger while his eyes dropped down to stare at her mouth. His control seemed to snap suddenly, and he leaned forward to kiss her gently but thoroughly.

Rita slipped her arms around his neck and welcomed the familiar longing and desire that simmered continually between them. She moved restlessly when he pulled her closer against him.

"Chris? Are you coming back down?"

Chris ignored the inquiry, cupping Rita's face in his hands. His thumbs stroked her lips as he asked with concern, "Victoria Sutherland didn't give you any problems, did she?"

Parting her lips, she nipped a thumb intimately, capturing it between her front teeth for a split second before releasing it and answering, "The butler let me in, and I waited half an hour before being told she couldn't see me tonight. Looks like I'll have to go back there tomorrow."

"Chris?" The voice from downstairs interrupted again.

"I think Grace is getting impatient." Rita planted a quick kiss on his mouth before moving out of his arms and into the small bathroom.

* * *

**With a small frustrated groan**, Chris glanced longingly at his fiancée and forced himself to walk away. The sound of the shower turning on made him even more determined to find out what Grace wanted from him. He had no illusions about her sudden re-appearance in his life.

The Grace he remembered from college would never have been this aggressive or clinging. It was rather annoying.

Grace stood at the bottom of the stairs now, glass of white wine in hand, watching him descend. He caught the spasm of irritation that crossed her face before it quickly disappeared.

"Does Sergeant Lance live here with you?" Annoyance tinged her voice as she spoke. "Is that allowed?"

Ignoring Grace's overly bold questions, Chris took her by the arm and led her to the couch where they both sat down.

"Why are you here, Grace?"

Grace sat painfully erect, refusing to sit back comfortably and ruin the perfect picture of elegance she was trying to project.

"I don't understand, Chris. If you didn't want to invite me in, you should have turned me away at the door. I thought we could catch up on old times..."

"I've been a detective for quite a few years now, Grace," Chris explained, covering one of her hands with his own, "and I've learned how to read people pretty well. If you need help of some kind, all you have to do is ask."

A brief spark of rebellion flashed in her eyes but once again, all emotion was quickly doused by her rigid control.

"All I know is that my father wants to talk to you, Chris," she insisted. "He read about the Winterbourne murder in the newspaper yesterday morning." Pausing, Grace searched his expression. Not finding what she was looking for, she continued, "Henry Winterbourne was an old business associate of his, and although they hadn't spoken in five years, Daddy was really shook up. He wouldn't share the details with me, but after he recognized your name in the article, he asked me to set up a meeting."

Chris let go of her hand and considered her comments. Grace's father was a very forthright, demanding man who had never avoided any type of confrontation during the four years that Chris had come into contact with him. Born into a wealthy family, George Walters had quadrupled the family fortune over the last forty years. More important to this situation, in Chris' mind, was the fact that Grace's father had made no secret of his dislike for Chris back then. His main goal had been to remove his daughter from the 'common' influence of her friends, and he had been willing to step on anyone who made the mistake of getting in his way.

"What happened to all your plans, Grace," he couldn't resist asking. "You were going to find a job out of state, as far away from your father as you could." Looking into the troubled blue eyes, he sensed her unhappiness.

Grace straightened her spine even more, if that was possible. "It wasn't as easy to do as I thought, Chris. I was ready to go. I really was."

"You told the rest of us that you had a job lined up in California, so we weren't too surprised when you never tried to contact anyone. We knew you needed to break away from the control your family had over you. To make your own way in the world the way you always said you wanted to."

"I never contacted anyone because I was ashamed. My mother asked me to stay, and I didn't have the strength to leave." Grace placed a hand on Chris' knee. "I've accepted my life now, Chris. I've been helping my father for over ten years, and we've found a way to get along."

"And what about your personal life?"

"I almost married a few years ago, but it didn't work out. What about you?"

Chris ignored the question, bringing the conversation back around to her father. "Why didn't he call me himself?" Even at twenty years old, he hadn't been intimidated by the powerful businessman, which had led to more than one noisy confrontation.

"I don't know," Grace admitted nervously. "He doesn't want to go through official channels on this, and that scares me. I'm sure you remember what a stickler he was for doing everything in the proper order."

"Yes," Chris muttered, "I definitely remember that about him."

The water in the upstairs shower had turned off a few minutes earlier, and Grace's glance now shifted to the loft. "I think I should get going." She rose and turned back to Chris.

"You're welcome to stay for dinner, Grace." He stood up next to her.

"Maybe some other time," she murmured, her eyes lingered as if trying to memorize his face, "when you aren't so busy with your work." Her hand moved of its own accord, lightly touching the side of his face before quickly returning to her side. She moved to the front door. "I'll see you tomorrow at eleven?"

"I'll be there," he promised.

* * *

**Standing in the shadows** at the top of the stairs, Rita dragged a comb through her wet hair. Still wrapped in a towel, she couldn't help wishing that Chris had been facing her direction during that last little scene. She would have liked to see the expression on his face and the look in his eyes as he talked to Grace. She'd seen enough of Grace's expression to confirm her earlier suspicions regarding the woman. Her untimely arrival had surely put a dent in Grace's intentions for the evening.

The sound of Chris setting dinner plates on the bar brought her back to the present, but she was reluctant to move and get dressed again. Cool air whispered refreshingly over her damp hair and shoulders. Giving herself a quick mental shake, she smiled and stepped back into the bedroom.

* * *

**After setting the large** salad bowl on the bar, Chris went in search of a cold beer. It was his turn to cook tonight, and the main entree was chicken salad, a Chris Lorenzo specialty. Chopping leftover chicken into small pieces, he had thrown in a head of lettuce along with anything else appropriate that he could find, and another masterpiece had been born. Bent over, head inside the refrigerator, he tried to locate that one remaining bottle of cold brew buried behind everything else.

His right hand closed triumphantly around the chilled long neck. "I knew there was one more in here. We've got to start thinking about paring down to just one apartment," he muttered to himself, "I'm losing track of what we need where..." Straightening up and turning back to the bar, his sentence trailed off at the sight of Rita sitting on a bar stool, watching him.

Her dark hair was still wet, combed back away from her face and she was wearing a gray PBPD T-shirt that clung in all the right places. Especially in all the places that were still a little damp. Her face, void of makeup, was more beautiful than ever. She was sleek, damp, sexy...and his response was immediate. Thoughts or concerns about anyone or anything other than the exceptional woman in front of him disappeared instantly.

He placed the beer on the counter and closed the refrigerator. "You, uh... look refreshed."

Did he actually just lick his lips? he wondered seconds after catching himself doing just that. He knew there was hungry appreciation in his eyes, but he stopped himself from saying anything more.

"I feel much better," she admitted, watching his expression closely.

"Good," he responded quietly with a bob of his head. Lowering his glance was the only way to keep from devouring her with his eyes. "Are you, uh... hungry? I mean, I threw together a salad." Thank God she couldn't read his thoughts.

"Sure, let's eat." Her smile wavered at the strained look on his face.

Chris took a seat across from his fiancée, stifling a groan as he adjusted himself and tried to get comfortable. Would he ever stop wanting her this way? In all of his previous relationships, he had never experienced this level of difficulty in separating his love life from his other responsibilities. With Rita, all previous existing rules were thrown out the window. He'd make love to her in the supply closet if she'd let him. Interrogation Room #3 had already taken on a whole new meaning for him after last summer. He was a man out of control, and she was a beautiful woman who deserved to eat her dinner in peace.

"Salad looks great," Rita complimented, wondering who or what commanded his thoughts at that moment. The worry must have shown on her face because when he finally looked back up at her... he winked. She wasn't too sure what he meant by it, but it made her laugh anyway. Reaching across the tile, she took one of his hands in hers. "You went through all this trouble," she teased, "we really should eat now."

"I didn't go to that much trouble," he assured her with a heated look that slipped out accidentally. "I could cover it and put it in the fridge for later. If you're not hungry, that is."

"Now that you mention it..." Rita kept hold of his hand as she stood up and walked around to the other side of the bar.

"Yes?" Chris interrupted hopefully. He turned in his seat and opened his arms, closing them around her quickly as she stepped between his legs. With her arms around his neck and her cheek against his, they held each other silently.

Eventually, Rita stirred in his arms, "Why did Grace leave so quickly?"

Chris was too content to even open his eyes. His hands crushed the T-shirt around her waist. The fresh scent of that body wash she used was doing crazy things to his equilibrium. He'd like nothing better than to take her right back under the pounding spray of the shower so they could both be covered in it.

"Chris?" He obviously wasn't ready to let go, so she placed her mouth against the side of his neck instead, brushing her lips back and forth across the sensitive area.

"You're driving me crazy, Sam," he murmured in a throaty whisper. One hand wove into the dark wet strands of her hair, his fingers spread wide to cradle the back of her head. The other hand slipped under the hem of her shirt to work its way up the supple curves of her spine. Her teeth closed over his ear lobe, and he groaned from the gentle mixture of agony and ecstasy.

Still a little off balance because of their surprise visitor, Rita pulled back in concern to ask, "What's wrong, Chris?"

"Can't you tell, Sam?"

"What is it?" she fussed, stroking the side of his face. "Are you worried about Grace?"

"Who?"

"Grace," she reminded him with no small amount of surprise, "your friend from college?"

"I'm not worried about Grace. Her father wants to meet with us tomorrow about the Winterbourne case."

"Oh..."

"My problem is more immediate..." Chris pulled up the front hem of her T-shirt, exposing her waist to his touch. His fingers splayed over the soft, smooth surface of her stomach, briefly brushing the curved undersides of her breasts. Her nipples hardened and pushed against the soft cotton material.

**Rita watched his movements** and her own automatic response with a renewed sense of wonder. They had been together well over a year already. Shouldn't the excitement have tapered off by now? Shouldn't this feel more routine: more of an ordinary scheduled occurrence? Clearing her throat, she finally found her voice again and asked, "What exactly is your problem, Sam?"

Chris let go of her shirt and framed her face with his hands, his eyes were filled with longing as he held her gaze and whispered. "I want you so bad it hurts, Rita."

"That's not a problem," she whispered back, "I want you too."

But he was too far gone to listen. "I tell myself to be patient," he continued, forcing himself to hold back.

She touched her lips to his and murmured, "I don't want you to be patient.."

"I tell myself that I can't make love to you and feel you beneath me twenty-four hours a day, but nothing I say can change how I feel."

She was groaning as loudly as he was now, her knees threatening to give out on her. Any attempt to answer him was lost when his mouth covered hers. She parted her lips and his tongue slipped inside, stroking and fanning their growing desires.

Chris slid both hands into the waist band of her cotton shorts.

"Chris..." Rita moaned his name as their lips moved apart.

Reluctant to give up the taste of her, his mouth continued to feast on the side of her neck, just behind her ear, before traveling down the smooth white column of her throat. "Sam..." his hoarse whisper was his only response.

Rita struggled to remain coherent against his tactile assault. "Can I talk into coming back upstairs with me?" she asked hoarsely as her eyes closed in pleasure.

His hand reached up to trace the outline of her right breast. He thumbed the distended peak through the soft gray cotton. "What about dinner?" he teased, trying to hold on to what little restraint he had left.

Gentle fingers stroked his cheek before dropping down and trailing across his chest. As they moved lower his body arched forward, longing for her attention.

"Just this once," she murmured with a loving smile, "let's skip ahead to desert." Taking her fiancé by the hand, Rita led him toward the stairs. Just as she reached the bottom step, she was thrown off balance by a tug backwards. Before she knew what was happening, Chris had picked her up into his arms. Her hands flew to the back of his neck for support.

Without another word the couple made their way to the bedroom, not returning downstairs to eat until the wee morning hours.

* * *

**Rita smiled as she let go** of the Gargoyle shaped door knocker. Chris just didn't appreciate the ambiance of Victoria Sutherland's house. Admittedly the architecture and even the decor were a little over-the-top for Palm Beach, but as far as Rita was concerned, they were a perfect match with the owner of the home.

Victoria Sutherland, according to her business cards, was a world-renowned psychic and palm reader. Rita, herself had not heard of the woman, but on the very day that the body of Henry Winterbourne washed up on the pristine shores of Palm Beach, Mrs. Sutherland was on the phone to the homicide division claiming to have seen the murder take place. It was only after Chris and Rita had gone to her house for the first interview that they realized what Victoria meant when she claimed to have 'seen' something happen. Transcribing their notes from that short meeting, Rita was unhappy with what she read. They had dismissed the woman as a publicity seeker and kook, failing to ask her many of the basic questions that should have been asked. This didn't sit right with her professional ethics and that was why she was back again with more questions.

The front door was opened by Victoria's butler, a tall gaunt man in his fifties, who never spoke a single word but communicated with slow graceful motions. With a sweeping gesture towards the living room, he indicated that Rita should wait for his employer in there.

Rita thanked him with a smile and made herself comfortable in a large wing back chair. Her eyes traveled slowly over the unique room. It was almost as if here, in this million-dollar home, time had stopped decades ago, refusing to move forward. Dark red draperies made of heavy velvet blocked most of the incoming sunlight, making artificial lighting necessary even this early in the day. The overstuffed red couch and matching chairs were reminiscent of the styles used in the forties, and the intricately carved end tables were definitely antiques.

Victorian Sutherland rushed into the room at just that moment, talking excitedly and waving her hands in the air as she walked. Rita knew for a fact that the woman was sixty-five years old, but she could have easily passed for someone twenty years younger. Her hair, whether natural or not, was jet black and her face was lined with only the barest hint of wrinkles when she laughed. She rushed forward to greet Rita.

"Sergeant Lance!" She exclaimed with a welcoming smile, taking both of Rita's hands into her own. "I'm so sorry I couldn't come downstairs last night. I was right in the middle of the most amazing session with one of my clients. The man had so many past lives, I didn't think we were ever going to get out of the fifteenth century! He kept getting himself killed over and over again. Thank goodness he learned a little self defense over the years. He's made it to fifty this time, which is a good sign..." Still clasping Rita's hands, Victoria suddenly stopped mid-sentence and closed her eyes.

"Mrs. Sutherland?"

"Shhh... there is a surplus of energy lingering around the house today, Sergeant Lance." She tightened her hold on Rita. Just as suddenly as she had closed her eyes, they flew open again, and she stared directly into Rita's startled green gaze.

The intensity of the woman's expression was unsettling, and Rita struggled to take back some control of the situation. "I need to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Sutherland."

Victoria was no longer smiling. She kept hold of Rita's right hand and led her back to her chair. She took a seat on the couch, positioning herself right next to the detective. She very carefully turned over the slim hand she was holding and traced the lines of the open palm with her finger. "I will answer your questions later, Sergeant. Right now there is something more important to be dealt with. Something that will have a greater impact on your life."

Rita had nothing against a little harmless fun. After all, people were entitled to squander their money however they chose as long as it was legal and didn't hurt anyone, but this was becoming uncomfortable. "I really don't have time for this," she explained, trying to pull her hand away.

Victoria held firm, "That man who came here to this house with you a few days ago... he is important to you. Yes?"

Nothing mystical about that bit of information. "That was my partner, Chris Lorenzo. We introduced ourselves to you that night."

The older woman's stare didn't waver. "Do you know what soul mates are, Sergeant Lance?"

"Soul mates? Like in romance novels? Two people meant to be together?" Rita's interest was reluctantly piqued. Maybe if she played along for a few minutes they could get this out of the way and move on to business. Chris was expecting her back at the precinct soon.

"There are many stories handed down to us by our ancestors about the origin of man, Sergeant. And there are many truths to be learned from these stories. One such story explains that all of us have souls created by God. But, when God decided to send these souls down to earth for the first time, he split them into male and female halves, intending for them to seek each other out and find happiness in human form.

Unfortunately, what God made so simple, people have managed complicate, and it hasn't always been easy for each of us to find our soul mate. Some people die too soon, while others are kept apart by bad decisions and even worse luck. And still, we always keep searching, knowing in our hearts that we are somehow missing something or someone in our lives, until we find that person. It often takes more than one lifetime to meet up again."

"What does this have to do with..."

"Please, Sergeant...Rita...let me finish."

"Go on..."

"Holding your hands right now, I felt it - a completeness of spirit. You have found each other." Victoria closed her eyes again. "You were nearly separated a few years ago."

"You could have read that in the newspaper," Rita reminded her host. "Police shootings are routinely covered by the media."

Victoria opened her eyes and smiled patiently, "Yes, you thought he was lost to you."

"He was seriously injured," she admitted. "But the doctors were able to save him."

"It wasn't the doctors who ultimately saved him," Victoria scolded, "he chose to follow the demands of his soul mate. You insisted he stay with you. You wouldn't let him go."

"It's not that simple," Rita continued to argue on the side of logic.

"But it is my dear," came the indulgent reply._ "'Christopher,'_ you commanded, _'don't you leave me.'"_

Rita shot up out of her chair and pulled her hand away successfully this time. She blinked away the moisture pooling in the corner of her eyes. How could this woman know about those private words? Chris was right, this place was giving her the creeps, and she wanted out. "Maybe we had better do this another time," she stammered, walking towards the front hallway.

"You were tested, Rita," Victoria Sutherland called out to her, recognizing the panic in the young woman's eyes. "And the tests are not over yet. You need to be prepared!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Sutherland," Rita interrupted as she opened the front door, "I'll have my partner give you a call to set up a new appointment."

"Don't doom yourself to repeat the past, Rita."

Turning back to the woman who had followed her into the entryway, Rita stared at her with stricken eyes. "You don't know me," she insisted. "And you don't know my past."

"Have you ever wondered why people can believe that the sun will appear in the sky every morning like clockwork, and that flowers can burst forth through the ground from tiny seeds no bigger than a rain drop, but they just can't believe in something as simple as the gift of second sight? If everything magical in this world is a gift from God, why wouldn't this special ability of mine be considered one also?"

"I didn't mean any disrespect," Rita stammered uncomfortably, "but please understand..."

"I want you to understand that there is nothing to be afraid of," Victoria held out her hand and waited for Rita to accept it. When she finally did, Victoria led her down the hall to a more private sitting room. A room with a quieter, more modern decor. As soon as her guest had taken a seat on the large green leather couch, Victoria looked down at her hands and started pacing. "I did not become what I am willingly," she began. "My mother was Romanian, my father English. By the time I reached my tenth birthday it was an accepted fact that I had inherited this special gift from my mother's side of the family."

The well-lit room and soothing colors worked their magic on Rita. She managed to quell the rising panic and replace it with professional curiosity. It was almost possible to forget the woman's uncanny insight into an event in her life that still too painful to look back on dispassionately. She listened to Victoria's story, making notes whenever necessary. When her host finally finished speaking, Rita glanced at her notepad. Victoria Sutherland was a highly educated woman who had led a colorful life. After spending her youth trying to hide her unusual talents, she had matured into a woman who no longer cared what other people thought of her as long as she could be of help to those who sought her out.

"When Sergeant Lorenzo and I came here to talk to you earlier in the week, you never mentioned whether or not you knew Henry Winterbourne before you read about his death in the papers."

"You did not ask me about that."

Rita dropped her eyes to the hands in her lap, "I'm afraid we might have been a little abrupt with you." She looked back up at her host. "I apologize."

Victoria chuckled softly. "That's quite all right, Sergeant Lance. I'm used to it."

"We were a little distracted," Rita admitted. "You have an amazing house."

"I don't think your partner appreciated it."

"He's not a great believer in what can't be seen or explained."

"And you?"

"I'm not sure." Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and her hands clasped tightly together, Rita couldn't stop herself from asking, "How did you know what I said to Chris in the ambulance that night?"

* * *

**Vulnerable green eyes watched her closely **as Victoria walked over to a nearby chair and sat down. How could she explain without burdening the young woman with more heartache? Some people were nearly impossible to read, their souls and their minds cluttered with the baggage of a thousand complicated lives, while others were as clear as a mountain stream; their goodness and kindness of spirit carrying forward from one lifetime to the next. To her continual amazement, most people, whether good or evil, stayed fundamentally the same.

"Mrs. Sutherland?"

"I'm sorry, dear. I was just thinking about Henry Winterbourne."

Her interest successfully diverted, Rita played right into Victoria's plans and followed up with a few probing questions.

"So, you did know Winterbourne personally?"

"Yes, we met five years ago."

"Under what circumstances?"

"One of his daughters had been coming to see me regularly. Clarice Winterbourne was a very troubled girl."

* * *

**Chris punched the number pad** on the telephone impatiently. Rita was late returning to the department, and he was beginning to worry.

She answered on the second ring. "Sergeant Lance."

"Sam, where are you? It's ten thirty, and we're supposed to be at the Walter's residence in thirty minutes."

"I'm sorry, Chris," Rita answered amid some very strange background noises. "I'll have to meet you there. Just give me the address."

He could barely hear her. "Where are you?" he repeated in a louder voice. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm still at the Sutherland house. A large senior citizen's group just dropped in for the Wednesday special."

"What?"

"The Wednesday special; a palm reading and numerology session."

Chris shook his head in disgust, "I was afraid that was what you said." He quickly passed on the Walter's home address. "Eleven o'clock. Don't forget." He wanted her there by his side when he came face to face with George Walters for the first time in over ten years.

"I'm on my way." The phone disconnected abruptly.

He felt a little bit better about the meeting now. As he stood up to slip on his jacket, he noticed George Donovan, the Assistant DA, walking in his direction.

George stopped at the detective's desk. "On your way to the Walter's place?"

"Yeah, George. What can I do you for?"

"Just thought I'd let you know about a phone call I received this morning."

Chris straightened his collar and gave George his full attention. "From who?"

"From a friend of mine who works in the Silicon Valley, up in Northern California."

"About?" He pushed in his chair, ready to leave.

George laid a hand on Chris' arm to stall him. "About GWH Communications. Word travels fast in the microprocessor industry. He heard about Henry Winterbourne less than an hour after you received the first call about a dead body. I think there is more going on here than we first thought."

Chris eyed the door, anxious to get on his way but turned back to the Assistant DA, "I'm not big on puzzles today, George. What exactly did your friend say?"

"He said that GWH had been slowly failing for the last five years. It was almost as if someone were systematically trying to destroy Henry Winterbourne. The parts being produced had hidden design flaws in them. The first couple cases were overlooked because of the company's reputation, but after the problems persisted, customers from all over the world started taking their business elsewhere."

"Does your friend know what happened five years ago? What triggered the problems?"

George paused a minute before answering. He handed Chris a sheet of paper with a name and address on it. "Winterbourne bought out his partner of twenty years. The initials in the name stand for George Walters and Henry Winterbourne." Tilting his head to one side, George noticed Chris' conservative gray suit for the first time. "Nice tie."

"Thanks, George." Chris read the information in his hand, unconsciously straightening the silk knot at his throat as he did so. The name and address matched what was written in his appointment book for eleven o'clock that day.

* * *

**An hour later,** both Chris and his partner were in the middle of a very uncomfortable meeting with the esteemed Mr. George Walters and his daughter, Grace. Chris remained standing by the large bay window that looked out over the extensive, meticulously maintained, back yard. A large patio, complete with a rock trimmed swimming pool and man-made waterfall, was surrounded by lush garden areas. Just the sort of environment he had always imagined Grace growing up in.

He turned back to the room, directing his gaze to the couch where Grace was sitting next to her father. "Exactly why did you want to meet with me? You mentioned selling out your interest in GWH five years ago, but we already had that information. You aren't a suspect, Sir."

George Walter's appearance had changed only minimally from the last time Chris had had the misfortune to run into him. The powerfully built, athletic millionaire now sported a slightly thickening waist and a touch of gray at the temples, but otherwise he seemed just as demanding and arrogant as he always had.

Chris, on the other hand, was no longer the young idealistic college student he had been all those years ago. Sure, he still had ideals, but a decade of police work had given him a harder edge and a great deal more insight into the human condition. Hard work and dedication to service had also earned him a position of respect and he was willing to accept no less from the man who had once tried to make his life a living hell because of his friendship with the man's daughter.

"I didn't want to sell my portion of the business," the older man repeated himself. "But I had to in order to protect my family."

**Rita leaned forward in her chair.** She was sitting directly across from George Walters. A large marble coffee table was positioned between them. Notepad in hand, she tried to get more information. "Protect your family from who, Mr. Walters? From Henry Winterbourne?"

Walters shook his head impatiently. "No, Sergeant. Henry was a good partner. We had worked side by side for twenty years to build that business. Most marriages don't last that long."

Rita threw her partner a quick glance. She could sense his impatience. Lying in each other's arms last night, Chris had talked openly about his friendship with Grace during his college years, describing in detail the problems her father had caused for his only daughter and, subsequently, all of her friends.

Chris flipped his notebook shut. "If there's nothing else, Mr. Walters," he snapped curtly, "we have a lot of work waiting for us back at the station." He made a move towards the door.

Grace rose from the couch and hurried to stop him. "Chris, please. Don't go yet." She turned back to her father. "Tell him," she pleaded. She ignored the shake of his head and warned, "Tell him right now, or I'll tell him for you."

"Mr. Walters," Rita cut in, "if you know something, it's in your best interest to tell us now." Chris was standing behind her chair, ready to leave. She watched George Walters struggle with himself, trying to decide what to do.

He looked right past her, directly at her partner, and his eyes narrowed as Grace grasped the detective's arm. "Still a hothead, Lorenzo?" The disdain in his voice was unmistakable.

Rita cringed. Take care, Mr. Walters, she thought to herself. You're not dealing with the young student anymore.

Chris ignored the comment, his only reaction a tightening of his jaw. He spoke calmly in return, "Do you have anything else to add to your statement, Sir? If not, we'll be going."

George Walters started to say something but changed his mind. He sighed and motioned for Grace to return to the couch, which she did promptly. "You sit down, too, Sergeant. I have an explanation for you, and it's hard enough to spit out the words without you standing there looming over the rest of us."

Chris hesitated a moment, then walked over to the chair next to Rita's. Unbuttoning his jacket, he took a seat and waited.

* * *

**Harry dropped his glasses** onto the desk blotter in front of him, and rubbed his tired eyes. He took a deep breath, and then slowly replaced the wire rimmed frames. Both homicide detectives were seated across from him, waiting in expectant silence.

"Okay," he finally sighed, "let me see if I understand you correctly."

Chris met Rita's eyes briefly before turning his full attention back to his boss.

"On the one hand, we have an extremely rich but now very dead executive who was warned by a psychic that his life would be in jeopardy if he continued his business practices in certain countries that are supposed to be off-limits to your average American businessman."

The detectives nodded and waited for him to continue.

"On the other hand, we have the one-time partner of the dead executive who was given the same warning, and knowing that his partner would not heed that warning, opted to sell out his portion of the business. Despite that, he received a death threat one week before Winterbourne's murder." Harry stood up and paced the floor next to his desk. "Somewhere in the middle of all this is Victoria Sutherland, our psychic." He turned to Chris, "What made Walters take that woman's prediction seriously five years ago? Why didn't he just write her off as a nut case and continue on as he was?"

Chris looked at his notes, "According to Walters, his wife had been going to Victoria for two years prior to the partnership splitting up. She managed to convince him that the woman was legit."

"And where is this wife now? Did you interview her?"

"Dead," Rita commented in a strained voice. "Victoria had warned her about brain cancer. She visited her doctor even though there were no outward signs of trouble and insisted on an MRI. They found an inoperable tumor, and she died a year and a half later.

Hands on hips, Harry digested the information.

"It has to be coincidence, Cap," Chris offered.

Harry looked from one detective to the other. "Rita?"

Rita kept her eyes down, staring at the file in her lap. "I don't know what to think yet," she confessed honestly. "Normally, I would just write her off, but between my discussion with her this morning and our interview with George Walters, I just don't know..."

Harry interrupted her, "Okay, I get the picture, Lance." He sat back down and rested his arms on the desk in front of him. "You both realize that all this may be neither here nor there anyway. If we cut through all the mumbo jumbo nonsense, we're left a few unarguable facts. We know for certain that Henry Winterbourne was stabbed in the heart and his body was dumped in the ocean. Whether predicted or not, that is not what we call a natural death here in the State of Florida. Let's find out who had their hand on the knife at the time it entered his chest, and we'll worry about whether or not it was destiny at some other time."

The meeting broke up, and all three participants agreed that one more meeting with the Sutherland woman was necessary to discuss the information passed on by Grace's father.

* * *

**"Good afternoon**," Chris greeted the sour looking doorman brightly and flashed his badge. "Sergeants Lance and Lorenzo. We're here to talk to Victoria Sutherland again." Both detectives followed the tall thin man into the what Rita now called the red room. He motioned for them to be seated but they declined in unison, and he left them alone.

"Ten to one his name is Lurch."

"Chris!" Rita threw him a stern look. "His name is Marion."

"What?!" There was a mischievous twinkle in Chris' eyes when he stepped closer to his partner and whispered into her ear, "Marion?"

"Marion Martin."

His grin widened, the laughter in his eyes invited her join in, and she couldn't help thinking just how gorgeous he looked at that moment. It would be so easy to get lost in the silky blue depths of his eyes and forget all about the crazy world around them.

"Sergeant Lance!" Victoria Sutherland called out a pleasant greeting, her bright multi-colored caftan billowing around her legs as she entered the room. "You've come back to see me again. And you brought your handsome partner."

Chris nodded hello and re-introduced himself. "Sergeant Chris Lorenzo, Ms. Sutherland."

"Yes, of course. It's a pleasure to see you again." She looked back and forth between the two detectives. "Have you solved your case yet?"

Rita spoke up, "Actually, we have a few more questions for you, if you have a few minutes."

Victoria clasped her hands together and stared at her owlishly, "About the Winterbourne murder? Or are you here about that other matter we discussed?"

The comment caught Chris by surprise, and he turned to his partner. She was looking directly at the psychic, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Why don't I ring for some tea?"

"That's not necessary," Chris assured her, but the woman picked up a large brass hand bell from the end table and rang it anyway.

The butler reappeared in his usual silent way. As soon as Victoria was through giving him instructions, she sat in the large wing back chair and waited to speak until the detectives were seated on the couch. "What can I help you with?"

"We talked to George Walters today," Rita informed her. "And he mentioned that you warned him about trouble, much in the same way you warned Winterbourne."

Victoria nodded solemnly.

"Why did you expect trouble, Ms. Sutherland?" Chris leaned forward as he spoke. "Do you have any idea who killed Mr. Winterbourne two nights ago?"

"I have no proof, Sergeant, if that's what you're looking for. I have no pictures or no recordings that will help you. I only know what I 'saw' and what I felt when I met Henry Winterbourne and George Walters five years ago."

"Can you tell us about that meeting?" Rita asked. "There were rumors that the partnership broke up because Winterbourne wanted to export their technology at over-inflated prices."

"His murder was a crime of passion, Sergeant Lance."

"A woman?" Chris questioned. "Even though you told Sergeant Lance this morning that you believe the murder took place in his office?"

"A man's life holds many passions, Sergeant. Not all of them related to romance." Victoria glanced at Rita and smiled.

Rita pushed for more answers. "You also mentioned this morning that Clarice Winterbourne had been coming to see you regularly. Did she introduce you to her father."

"She didn't exactly provide an introduction, but she asked me to speak to him on her behalf."

"Why?"

"She was having bad dreams... nightmares, if you will."

"And you were able to help her?"

"I tried."

An ornate silver tea tray was placed on the coffee table by the silent Marion. Their hostess poured them each a cup, offered them a pastry, and then sat back in her chair to slowly sip the hot liquid.

"Have you done much checking into Winterbourne's family, Sergeant?"

Chris' tea remained untouched and he answered promptly. "Yes, we talked to his ex-wife and all three of his daughters the same day his body was discovered."

"And his son?"

"No one ever mentioned a son," Rita offered quickly. This could be the break they were looking for. "Are you sure about this?" she asked the older woman.

"Henry Winterbourne III, Clarice's brother, had many problems and struggles that overlapped into his sister's life. All of the Winterbourne children suffered because of their father's decisions, but only one of them never overcame the anger."

Chris stood up, followed by Rita.

"Thank you, Ms. Sutherland," he reached over to shake her hand as she rose to see them out. His expression changed to one of surprise when she enveloped his hand in both of hers and didn't let him go right away. Instead she continued to stare quietly into his eyes. Rita stood right at his elbow, watching without saying a word. "Ms. Sutherland?" He tried to pull away.

Victoria smiled and turned his palm over. "You have very nice hands, Sergeant."

Chris looked down at the slightly roughened skin and basketball induced calluses with confusion. Rita seemed to understand more about what was going on than he did. She was biting her lower lip now, and watching Victoria closely. As soon as the older woman started tracing the lines of his palm with her finger, he figured it out quickly enough.

"Oh no you don't," he muttered, and pulled his hand away successfully this time. "Time to go, Sam." Placing a firm hand on the small of his partner's back he ushered her out of the room toward the front door.

"But, Chris..."

"Out!" he ordered, opening the door and pushing her gently in the direction of the car.

Halfway there, Rita turned back to look at the house. Victoria stood in the doorway.

"Please feel free to come back and talk to me anytime, Sergeant Lance," the older woman called out. "You too, Sergeant Lorenzo."

Chris had already unlocked the passenger door of the car and was on his way around to the driver's side. He nodded at Victoria but didn't otherwise respond.

Rita, on the other hand, had stopped in her tracks.

"Thank you, Ms. Sutherland."

"You're welcome, Sergeant," her smile was genuine. She admired both detectives, their strength of character and moral fiber so easily read by someone in her position. "Sergeant Lance?"

"Yes?"

"Don't worry about the white bird, no matter how it looks, she isn't a threat."

"The white bird?"

"Rita," Chris called out from inside the car, "let's go!"

With a final wave and a whole bunch of unanswered questions, Rita joined Chris in the car and they headed for home.

Stopped at a red light, Chris ventured a quick glance at his fiancée. "What did she say as we were leaving?"

"She was just saying goodbye again."

"Creepy," Chris muttered before changing the topic. "Why don't you place a call to Winterbourne's ex-wife. We need to track down the son and find out why nobody bothered to mention him to us."

"I'm already dialing, _Music Man_."

"Sam..." His look of annoyance was met with a teasing smile as Rita turned her attention to whoever she was speaking to at the precinct. As soon as she disconnected the call, he opened his mouth to complain, but she interrupted him.

"Lighten up, Chris," she taunted, still grinning, "you just might get lucky. I wonder if you can still score like you used to?"

His gaze darkened immediately. "Keep that up," he threatened softly, "and you're definitely going to find out."

Green eyes sparkled playfully and a gentle hand found its way to his thigh.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

**(End Part 1)**

**Click on Chapter Link**

**to read Chapter 2**


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes: Final chapter. More romance, little bit of crime (eh, who cares?), more mild sexual content as it pertains to a couple deeply in love.

**Premonitions**

**Chapter 2**

**by: resauthor**

Chris brought the coffee pot into the living room. After refilling both their mugs, he glanced at the television screen and grimaced.

"I thought you said the movie was almost over."

Rita watched him walk back to the kitchen with a smile. "You've been prowling around the apartment for the last hour," she patted the couch next to her. "Come over here and sit down."

"I hate this movie," he complained, but joined her anyway. As soon as he sat back against the cushions, Rita nestled into her favorite position up against him.

"How can you say that? It's a beautiful story about two best friends."

"It's a chick flick."

"So? I won't rat on you... I promise." Tilting her head slightly, she glanced over her shoulder. Despite his complaints, Chris was staring at the drama unraveling on the small screen as one of the main characters lost her battle with cancer.

Rita turned back to the story also. No matter how often she watched this particular movie, the emotion and heartache of the situation got to her each and every time. The final song started and she reached for a tissue.

"I hate this movie," Chris repeated as he watched her.

"It's beautiful," Rita insisted, blowing her nose. Turning in his arms, she raised tear filled eyes to her partner.

"It always makes you cry," he murmured, using a finger to capture a drop of moisture hovering on her lashes. "I don't like seeing you cry."

"A few tears can be a good thing, Sam," she whispered back, closing her eyes as his finger tips traced the lines of her face. "They remind us we're alive inside."

Chris tightened his arms and pulled her more fully on to his chest. Her arms made their way around his neck. "You're all the reminder I need," he swore harshly and covered her mouth with his own.

They stayed that way for a while; arms and legs intertwined as they enjoyed the taste and feel of each other, not wanting to rush towards greater fulfillment just yet.

"You know what sounds good?" Rita's voice was husky as she broke away from Chris' mouth and started kissing her way down his throat. Her hands were busy working on the clothing that separated them. As much as she enjoyed the colorful T-shirts that he so often wore, nothing was sexier on a man than an unbuttoned dress shirt. The look was sophisticated, yet primal; polished, yet raw. When the last button was undone, she pushed the material aside and proceeded to show her appreciation for the firm chest beneath her.

**Chris was still half sitting,** half lying down on the couch with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. Her wet mouth on his painfully erect nipples sent small tremors through his entire nervous system. He tried to pace himself and regulate his breathing. This was only foreplay, for God's sake...he wanted to make this feeling last for as long as possible. But then, those small, capable, beautiful hands were massaging his abdomen, and he found himself instinctively pushing his hips up to her. His body was moving with a will of its own, shamelessly begging for her touch. Swallowing hard as she unbuckled his belt, he tried to remember her question.

"What sounds good to you, Sam?" His words came out as a low moan. He could come up with a hundred different scenarios that sounded good to him right now, and all one hundred featured him and his partner in various stages of undress as they made mad, passionate love to each other.

Rita looked up and their eyes met. With her damp, swollen mouth and heavy-lidded gaze, he had no doubt that she was easily reading his thoughts. The corners of her mouth curved into a devastatingly sultry smile. He loved her more than life itself.

At just that moment, the doorbell rang, cruelly interrupting the intimate moment. He tried to keep hold of Rita as she sat up, but she was too quick as she rose to stand next to the couch. She was straightening her blouse when whoever was outside started knocking loudly.

"Chris? I saw your car outside. It's Grace. Are you home?"

Chris stood up reluctantly and buttoned his shirt but didn't bother to tuck it in. "I'll be right there!" he yelled in the direction of the door and then turned back to his partner. "It might have something to do with the case."

Rita ran a shaky hand through her tangled hair and took a deep breath before answering in a hushed voice, "I think you can handle this one on your own, Chris. I'm not up to talking to anyone right now. I'll wait upstairs."

"You don't have to do that," he tried to assure her. "As far as I'm concerned, we should have told her we're engaged the first time she showed up at the precinct." He watched Rita climb the stairs. "Why don't you want her to know?"

"This isn't about us or our engagement, Chris. This is about a murder case." With a final glance, she disappeared into the bedroom.

Still frowning, Chris opened the door and discovered his old schoolmate waiting impatiently in the hallway.

"Grace, come in." He took a step backwards as she walked past, her predatory gaze taking in his slightly mussed up appearance. There was a reason they had never been more than friends all those years ago. Grace seemed to have forgotten. To avoid any mixed messages now, he kept his expression neutral.

"Grace," he tried to get her attention, but she was too busy checking to make sure they were alone. He was already frustrated, disappointed and anxious to get back to Rita. The actions of his unexpected guest irritated him further.

"Grace?" Chris' sharp tone brought her attention back to him. "Has something happened?"

She smiled indulgently. "No, Chris. I just wanted to talk to you about everything that has been going on."

He motioned towards the couch, "Have a seat."

She eyed the coffee mugs, still half full, on the table in front of her, then glanced surreptitiously at the upstairs loft.

Chris sat down next to her, and watched as she purposely crossed her legs, letting the hem of the dress she was wearing ride higher on her thigh, drawing attention to the long expense of leg left uncovered. Her short, powder blue designer shift was simple, but undoubtedly expensive. Thinly strapped silver sandals and an expensive pedicure finished off the look. She wanted his personal attention. The big question was – why?

"It's late, Grace," he reminded her. "Did your father send you here to talk to me?"

Grace stepped carefully around the question, asking instead, "Have you discovered who sent him the death threat?"

"We're still working on it."

"Oh."

"Is that why you're here?" he pushed, anxious to get back to Rita.

The lack of interest in his eyes made her more desperate. Large blue eyes widened and stared directly into his. "I'm here for you, Chris."

"Grace..." He tried to stop her before she said any more.

"Chris..." she interrupted, "I know the time wasn't right while we were in school, but you must have known that I was interested in you, even back then." Taking hold of his hands, she held them tight, trying to get her message across. "My father was very impressed with you today, Chris. I was very impressed also."

Chris gently pulled his hands out of her grasp. Despite her desperate words, he didn't quite believe her. Something wasn't right.

"We were just good friends, Grace," he reminded her, standing up to put some distance between them.

Within seconds, Grace was right there in front of him again, placing her open palms on his chest.

"We could be so much more than that now, Chris." She smiled into his eyes looking for any small sign of acceptance.

Chris took hold of her wrists. "I'm sorry, Grace."

"You're not even giving us a chance."

"There is no 'us', Grace. We were friends in school. That was practically a lifetime ago."

"There's someone else," she accused in a flat voice. This wasn't going the way she had planned. He wasn't reacting the way he was supposed to.

"As a matter of fact, there is someone else, but even if there weren't, my feelings for you never went beyond friendship. That was why we never became involved. It was never meant to be more than that."

Turning away, Grace hugged her arms tightly to herself. "Did I ever tell you that my father thought that you and I were sleeping together back then?"

Chris looked at her in surprise, "No, you didn't. I hope you set him straight."

Grace let out a harsh laugh and shook her head, "I let him go right on believing what he thought was the truth."

"Grace… no wonder he hated me more than the others in our group. Why would you do such a thing?"

"Don't you see, Chris? Not only could I try and hurt him by flaunting our affair right under his nose, I could also pretend that I had the one thing I wanted more than anything else in the world. You.

Chris watched her silently now, not knowing what to say anymore.

The woman in front of him was not suffering from the same problem. Clearly disappointed with the response to her confession, she was growing angrier by the minute.

"I see that look in your eye, Music Man. Don't you dare pity me!"

"Grace, I don't..."

A quick flick of her head threw the pale blond hair back over her shoulders. "Not all of us have the same lofty ethics that you do, Sergeant. Although I don't remember you spending too many Saturday nights alone."

"This isn't necessary," Chris tried getting through to her. He had the distinct feeling that her anger was not so much directed at him as it was at her father and her own decisions in life.

"Why were all the others good enough to love, Chris, and I wasn't?" She walked to the window and stared out sullenly. "First my father, and then you...and then J.R.

"You don't understand, Grace..."

"Liar," she whispered harshly, too well trained to ever raise her voice in anger. "You're all liars."

"That's just about enough out of you."

Grace turned back to the room in surprise. Chris' partner had obviously been upstairs the entire time, and she was now walking purposefully in her direction.

Chris recognized the look in his partner's eyes, and he tried to run interference, "Rita, it's okay."

"No," she snapped, "it's not okay. I've heard enough self pity in the last ten minutes to last me a lifetime."

"This was a private conversation," Grace cut in bluntly.

"No, this is an annoying conversation in my fiancé's apartment. If you want privacy, rent a hotel room."

"Your fiancé?" Grace's expression turned cold. "I should have known."

"Oh?" Rita's hands were on her hips now. "And exactly how should you have known?"

"'Sam' this, 'Sam' that!" The irate blond gestured wildly. "It's disgusting."

**Rita took a deep breath, **determined to maintain her dignity and composure. "And I suppose 'Music Man' is a more fitting nickname?" Chris was right behind her now, placing a hand on her shoulder, but she ignored him. The spoiled little rich girl needed a good swift kick, and if she continued to intrude in their lives this way, she just might get it. She managed to ask calmly, "I know Chris' nickname back then, but nobody has mentioned yours, Grace. What was it?"

Grace crossed her arms again and turned away, ignoring her.

Rita sent Chris a pointed look.

"White bird," he said simply. "She used to sing with a band on occasion."

"White bird..." Rita mouthed the words silently, all the fire and indignation draining from her as she thought back to the psychic's parting words just a few short hours ago. As if in a daze, she walked over to the couch and sat down. How could Victoria Sutherland know so much? Rita had never run into anything like this in the past. Did Victoria truly have some type of mystical powers that allowed her to see the future? And if so, what did she mean when she said the tests were not over for her and her soul mate? Was Chris in danger?

Chris, the soul mate in question, remained standing in the middle of the room with a perplexed look on his face. He still wasn't sure what had just happened. Grace was staring out the window as if she were counting the cracks in the sidewalk below, her back as stiff and straight as a board, and Rita was sitting silently on the couch, inexplicably upset by Grace's nickname. A more curious man might have attempted to figure it all out by questioning both women, but a smarter man went over to sit by his partner instead.

She felt his arm curve around her shoulders. He pulled her close.

"Are you okay?" A deep sigh could be heard from across the room, but Chris' eyes stayed focused on Rita.

"Yes," Rita nodded, trying to put him at ease. She looked up as Grace took a seat in the chair across from her. How did the woman manage to cry without getting puffy eyes like almost every other woman in America?

Shiny blue eyes, with just a hint of redness around the edges, returned Rita's direct gaze. "I'm sorry, Sergeant Lance. My behavior was uncalled for."

"Please, call me Rita, and I'm sorry also. My own behavior was not above reproach. I shouldn't have been eavesdropping."

"I was practically shrieking like a banshee."

"No, you weren't...honestly. And I should have let Chris tell you about our engagement that first day you came by the precinct. We could have avoided all this."

"I should have seen it, Rita." Grace admitted quietly. "I should have noticed the difference in Music...I mean in Chris. As close as we were back in school, he never looked at me the way he looks at you." She paused to take a deep breath, her emotions now back under control. Somehow her desire for Chris Lorenzo had dissipated into thin air. Maybe it had never been real to begin with. "I do apologize. To both of you. I don't normally force myself into a situation where I'm not wanted. I don't know what came over me. My father would kill me if he knew."

Rita had a feeling that the entire situation had more to do with her father than anyone else. She covered Grace's hand with one of her own, "Your father loves you, Grace. I saw that so clearly when we interviewed him. He may not show it in an obvious way, but he does love you. Maybe he's afraid of losing you."

"I wish I could see that for myself just once," Grace said wistfully.

"And as far as Christopher goes," Rita had everyone's attention now, "I know how important friendship has always been to him. I'm sure you were important to him, even if it wasn't in the way you wanted."

Chris, more confused than ever, nodded in agreement. Both women turned to him with smiles on their faces. Eager to get the attention off of himself, he asked Grace, "Who was J.R.?"

Grace fingered the hem of her dress nervously, picking at invisible specks of dust. "J.R. was my fiancé about six years ago. We were supposed to be married. We were supposed to be in love."

"What happened?" Rita asked quietly.

"He lost his job."

"That's not the end of the world," Chris commented. "Did your father disapprove?"

"J.R. is Henry Winterbourne Jr. and his father accused him of embezzling from GWH." Her eyes glistened as she stared across the room reliving the memories. "J.R. was thrilled when he first started working for the firm even though his father actually made him apply the old-fashioned way and go through all the interviews. He earned that position and thought he was finally going to spend time with his father. He wanted to make the old man proud." She turned back to Chris and Rita, "My father may be a hard man, but he wasn't like his partner. He has always cared about what happens to his family. Cared too much probably."

Rita had picked up a nearby pen and pad of paper to begin taking notes. "What happened to J.R.?"

The blond head shook slightly. "I don't know. I received a frantic call from him one day. J.R. said his father had set him up. By then he had spent enough time at GWH to understand how the company was run, and he didn't approve of some of their business practices. He tried to discuss it with his father and mine, but they wouldn't listen to him. He claimed that they had figured out a way to discredit him and that he had to break our engagement. He was going underground until it all blew over. That was six years ago, and the last time I ever heard from him."

"Did it ever occur to you that J.R. may have sent the death threat to your father?"

Grace was clasping her hands tightly together now. "I've known J.R. and his family for most of my life. I don't think he would do something like that. But then again, I also thought he meant it when he said he loved me. I don't think I'm capable of judging what's possible and what isn't any longer."

"Pain and desperation make people do a lot of things they normally wouldn't do." Chris spoke from years of experience dealing with the results of people's desperate actions.

Grace looked at the couple, thinking back to her embarrassing performance just ten minutes earlier. "I'd say that's very true."

Rita stood up, "How about some coffee? I think we might even have some type of dessert somewhere."

"I'll help," Grace offered, following Rita, "Let me guess - white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies."

"How did you know?" Rita laughed.

"Some things about a man never change."

"Hmm...I'll have to remember that. Now what were you saying earlier about Christopher and Saturday nights?"

"I'll bet we could trade stories," Grace teased. "Have you really been partners for over six years?"

"Six long years," Rita admitted with a grin.

**He should probably** get in there and break it up, Chris thought to himself. Then again, that would put him in the proverbial 'line of fire," which wasn't necessarily a smart place to be. Maybe a little distance was safer. Grabbing the remote control, he switched the television back on and settled back to wait for the coffee. If he turned the volume up loud enough, maybe he could drown out the sound of their laughter...

* * *

**"Lorenzo!" **

Chris walked over to the Captain's office and stuck his head inside. "Yeah, Cap, what's up?"

Harry's right hand rested on the telephone receiver he had just placed back on its cradle. "That was a call from George Walters. There's been another death threat and his daughter, Grace, is missing."

"We just saw her last night," Chris offered the information in a confused voice. "Is he sure?"

"Sounds sure to me," Harry barked. "Grab Rita and get over there."

"We're on our way."

* * *

After a brief explanation to his partner, Chris led the way out of the homicide department, and they arrived at the Walters mansion fifteen minutes later.

The door was opened by a uniformed maid and they were directed into the living room. George Walters could be heard yelling angrily into the phone.

"I want her found," he instructed some poor soul on the other end of the line. "I don't care who you have to pay or who you have to kill to get the information. I want her found NOW!"

Both detectives paused in the doorway of the elegant room. Chris spoke up first. "A word of caution, Mr. Walters."

Grace's father slammed down the phone and looked up in annoyance. "I meant that figuratively, of course, Sergeant. Grace is missing. She never returned home from wherever she was last night."

"She was at my place, Sir." With his jacket open and pushed back, and his hands on his hips drawing attention to the badge and firearm at his waist, Chris had unconsciously adopted his aggressive stance.

George Walters adopted an intimidating stance of his own, moving towards Chris angrily. "Don't tell me you've started up with her again already!"

"Mr. Walters!" Rita interrupted before the entire situation go out of hand. "I was at Sergeant Lorenzo's apartment last night also. Grace wanted someone to talk to, and she was perfectly calm when she left."

The older man continued to watch Chris through narrowed eyes. "I want my daughter back unharmed, Sergeants."

Rita walked towards him and pulled an 8 x 10 photo out of the file she was holding. "I have a photo here I'd like you to identify." She held it out to him and watched his eyes widen with recognition.

"That's Henry's son, J.R."

"The same J.R. that was fired from GWH?"

"Yes. What does he have to do with all this? I haven't seen him for five or six years now. I assumed he moved out of state."

"We're not sure yet," Chris responded coolly. "We're checking into his whereabouts. We're also running a handwriting analysis on the first death threat you received and the messages that we found in Henry Winterbourne's desk. We found several dating back six months."

"J.R. and Grace were engaged at the time he was fired. Do you think he has something to do with her disappearance?"

"We'll find out," Rita assured him.

Chris' cell phone rang and he turned away from the conversation to answer it. "Lorenzo."

"Chris?"

"Grace," Chris glanced up to make sure he hadn't been overheard and walked further away. "Where are you? I'm at your father's house right now, and he's worried sick."

"I doubt that. But I'm fine, really I am."

"I'm not kidding, Grace. I should be handing this phone over to him right now."

"DON'T! Please, Chris. Hear me out. I need to meet with you and Rita. It's important."

"What am I supposed to tell your father?"

"For Pete's sake, Chris. I'm thirty-four years old. Let him sit and wonder for another hour. It might do him good to find out there are some situations in life that he can't control with money and power."

Chris grinned; he couldn't help it. "Were you always this pig-headed and independent?"

"No, that's been my problem all along. I guess it took a situation like this and a few reminders of the past to wake me up."

"You always did learn quickly, Grace. You're a smart lady."

"I have a feeling that fiancée of yours could still teach me a few things. Meet me in the back booth at McGuire's in twenty minutes."

"We'll be there."

"Chris?" Rita appeared at his side and threw him a curious look.

"We have an appointment," he informed her with a sly smile. "Are you done here?"

"I don't think there is anything else we can do here."

George Walters had already left the room so Chris was spared the need for good-byes. He led Rita out to the car and explained the situation as he drove across town to the meeting place.

* * *

McGuire's was an old-fashioned pub located in an older section of West Palm Beach; an area that hadn't fallen victim to the city's extensive renovation plans yet. The walls were covered in rich, dark wood paneling, and the dividers between the booths stretched all the way to the ceiling for privacy. At any given hour of the day small groups of patrons could be found huddled over the daily newspaper, arguing over current events or just kicking back to drink in relative silence. It was a good place to meet and definitely off the beaten track.

Rita removed her sunglasses as they entered the bar. With Chris right behind her, she headed for the back of the room, spotting Grace as she neared the last booth. Grace still wore the blue dress from the night before, but there was something definitely different about her. A few steps closer and Rita understood what. She sensed more than saw Chris put his hand on his gun.

"Rita... Chris... This is J.R." Grace indicated the dark-haired man at her side.

"We know that," Chris informed her curtly. "He's wanted for questioning in the death of his father." His gaze locked with Henry Winterbourne III, and both men took stock of each other. To J.R.'s credit, he didn't back down; his dark brown eyes remained steady and unflinching. That was a good sign, but there were still a lot of unanswered questions.

"I thought you didn't know where he was?" Rita asked the glowing, but ever so slightly rumpled blonde.

"Please, sit down, both of you. I'll explain everything."

Chris hesitated, then crooked a finger in the silent J.R.'s direction. "Get out here."

Grace slid out of the booth and let her one-time fiancé move past her. She watched impatiently as Chris frisked the tall, thin man. When Chris was finally satisfied, they all sat down, and Grace proceeded to describe how J.R. had been following her for weeks, trying to get up the nerve to speak to her. After two hours spent waiting for her to emerge from Chris' apartment the previous night, he knew it was time for them to talk.

"I expected Grace to be married by now with a couple of kids," J.R. finally spoke up to take over the story. I was ready to call her a few days ago, but then I heard the news about my father. I panicked."

"J.R. joined a political action group when he first dropped out of sight six years ago, using his business management degree to fight the unfair business practices that his father and mine were a part of for years." Grace had placed a hand on J.R.'s arm and there was pride in her voice.

"Did this group have anything to do with your father's death?" Rita watched man across from her carefully as he considered her question.

"I separated myself from them about six months ago because they were starting to promote violence instead of dialogue as their main teaching tool. I didn't sign on for that. The leader, John Marsden," he pulled a pamphlet out of his back pocket and handed it to Rita, "worked for my father over ten years ago. He was laid off because the technology he was developing became obsolete before it was ever fully functional. That's what the microprocessor industry is like. You may have a great idea, but if someone comes up with something better, you have to move on and keep up with the competition."

"So, what was the problem then?" Chris was trying to put the pieces together, but there were still huge holes in the story.

"My father laid him off and didn't allow him to take any of his research notes with him."

"Isn't that standard practice?"

"Marsden never got over it. My father had another researcher put the finishing touches on the work that John started and sold the final product through a broker to small third world countries or anyone else suffering from financial difficulties. It may not have been the latest technology, but it was the most affordable."

"And you think that Marsden was the one sending the death threats."

"I know he was."

"Why didn't you report him?" Rita asked.

J.R. hung his head. "They told me they just wanted to let the old man know they were on to him. He had supposedly closed a deal with a few South American companies that the government wouldn't approve of. They wanted to scare him by threatening to expose what he was up to. I had no idea they would go this far. I left after the first death threat was sent."

Chris moved out of the booth. "We'll need you to come downtown with us."

"But, Chris..." Grace stood up also. J.R. followed right behind her.

"It's okay," J.R. assured her, pulling her to his side. "I haven't done anything wrong, Grace, and I want whoever did kill my father to pay for it."

Grace closed her eyes as his lips pressed against her forehead.

"You need to go home and talk to your father," he instructed softly. "And I need to go talk to the police. I'll come back to get you much quicker this time. You have my word on it." He kissed her hard on the mouth to seal his promise.

**Grace turned to the detectives.** "Take care of him for me?" As soon as they nodded, she left the bar, head held high, back as ramrod straight as ever, self-control in place. She never looked back.

J.R would help Chris and Rita find his father's killer, and she would go home to her troublesome parent. It was time to set a few new ground rules for the sake of their future relationship. All in all, she hadn't felt this free in years.

* * *

"This has been a perfect day." Rita stifled a yawn.

"Which part? The bike ride?"

"They do have the most incredible bike paths on this island."

"Hmm...yes they do. But how about that dinner?"

"I do love lobster." If she were a cat, she'd be purring. She felt his hand snake through the bubbling water of the hot tub and glide over her stomach. She was too relaxed to open her eyes.

"Aha! Now were getting somewhere. I'm testing an old theory of mine."

"What do you mean?"

"The bike paths were incredible, but the lobster inspired love."

"Don't be stupid." One eye peeked open.

"Hear me out..."

"Move your leg first."

"My leg is happy where it's at."

"I'm getting a cramp."

"Too much lobster."

Her response was a playful fist to his stomach.

His right hand grabbed the offending wrist, while his left sought revenge.

"No tickling!"

"Then quit splashing! Look, now you've gone and doused one of the candles."

"Don't worry about it," Rita's lips moved lightly over the side of his face. "I'm going by touch here anyway."

"Hmm...go right ahead. A little lower please."

"Behave yourself."

"No way."

"Excuse me?"

"Face it, Sam," Chris murmured, "you don't want me to behave. It's just you, me, the candlelight and a stunning view of the ocean."

"I'm with you so far. Tell me more." Her light, musical laughter cascaded over him like a warm summer rain.

"You're in the arms of a man who loves you," he continued.

"My soulmate."

"Soulmate?"

"According to Victoria Sutherland..."

"Stop right there. I don't want to hear it."

"You know, Christopher, you're not very open minded about certain things."

"I know that."

"You should expand your thinking a little."

"Rita?"

"Yes?"

"Come here." Pulling Rita closer, her body stretched out above him in the jet-propelled water, his hands took hold of her waist and settled her onto his lap. "Wrap your legs around me."

She watched him closely, her eyes full of unasked questions, heart-felt promises, and even a few lingering fears from the meetings with Victoria that she just couldn't forget about.

Chris leaned forward to press more fully against her. "This is my reality, Rita," he whispered against her wet mouth. "I don't need anyone else to read my soul."

"You aren't curious about the future?"

"Sure, I'm curious, but I already know the most important part of our future."

"You do?"

"Yes, we're going to be together for a very long time."

"I do admire your confidence." Her wet arms locked around his neck and they enjoyed a slow, hungry kiss.

Saturday, their first day on the island had been wonderful, filled with bike riding, swimming and walks along the shore. Their first night was turning out even better. After a longer workday than expected Friday, they both knew they were lucky to have escaped working the weekend. If J.R. hadn't pointed the investigation in the right direction, the case might have taken weeks to crack instead of just a few days. An unsuspecting John Marsden had been arrested easily on Friday and was being held without bail, linked to the Winterbourne murder by two of his fellow group members who, like J.R., had become upset with the move towards violence by their leader.

Months of work lay ahead for the DA's office, but J.R. was in the clear, eager to rebuild his relationship with Grace and more than willing to testify, enabling Chris and Rita to sneak away to Sanibel Island for forty-eight glorious hours.

Rita broke off the kiss and watched his tongue instinctively run over his bottom lip, savoring the taste of their shared passion. That mouth was pure magic.

"Speaking of confidence," Chris murmured as he watched her, watch him. "Did you see Grace and J.R. together at the station yesterday?" He gasped slightly and grabbed hold of her hips as she shifted position in the water. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Rita laughed as she replied, enjoying her obvious power over him. "I saw and heard them. I guess I should say that I heard Grace. She lit into the county prosecutor over a few remarks he made during J.R.'s deposition." Chris closed his eyes and she watched him with concern. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Eyes filled with passionate blue fire flickered open. "I just had a premonition."

"About what?"

"About the future."

"That's not funny." Rita eyed him suspiciously.

"I'm completely serious."

"I'm waiting..."

His hands cut through the warm water, settling on the tops of her thighs.

"In my vision," he began as one hand drifted to the soft center of her being, "your eyes are closed."

Rita did just that as he touched her intimately. "Like this?"

"Yes..." Chris whispered in encouragement. "And your head is thrown back, allowing me to taste and touch…" Her response was immediate and he flattened his free hand against her throat, letting it trail from the top of her long beautiful neck, through the valley between her breasts, and back down to the velvety soft, yet firm, planes of her stomach.

The rhythmic pressure of his hands, the pulsing beat of the water, the magic of a thousand stars seen twinkling over the blackness of the ocean through their large picture window...

"Do you believe, Sam?"

She strained against his hand. What was he asking? Her head was tipped back, her eyes were closed, and it was nearly impossible to focus.

Chris continued to stroke her intimately, not sure how much more he could take. The need to bury himself inside her at that moment took second place only to the need to make her understand what he was trying to tell her. Victoria Sutherland had obviously said something to unsettle Rita, and she had been worrying about whatever it was for days now. She had to understand that he refused to live his life afraid of what was around every corner.

**Rita moaned** when the hand disappeared and was replaced by something more pressing and insistent. Why was Chris hesitating? She opened her eyes and silently questioned the love of her life.

"Do you believe?" he asked again.

Did she believe? Rita wondered. Believe in what? Victoria's prediction that they were meant to be together? Her prediction that their lives would not always be easy and that some type of future trouble lay ahead? Or did she simply believe that she was lucky enough, after so many hardships in her life, to find an intelligent, kind, loving man that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with? And thank God this wonderful man loved her back. It didn't take a psychic for her to know her own heart.

Warm wet hands framed his face, and she let her lips hover a breath away as she spoke, "I believe in you. I believe in us. Whatever life and fate deal us, we'll face it, and overcome it together."

That was all Chris needed to hear. Her mouth descended on his, her breasts crushed against his chest, and he drove himself into her body all at the same time. It was a near fatal combination, and he bid a quick farewell to the last remnants of his self control.

_The candles eventually flickered out one by one._

_The couple eventually left the water to towel each other dry, inspiring another slow, but intense, lovemaking session in the king size bed._

_The bright morning sun eventually rose in the East over paradise, giving life to a quiet Sunday on Sanibel Island. The same Sanibel Island that had once been no more than a tired dream to two extremely dedicated, but often over-worked homicide detectives._

The end for now...

Classic Moments 1998


End file.
